Soapsuds
by That Girl55
Summary: The Hotel Cortez needs a new - living - maid to pass inspection, and after a fall out with her old cleaning company, it looks like Stella's got no other choice but to take the job. JamesXOC.
1. Preface

_"See your body tremble with the blood on fire_

 _'Cause the season in my veins_

 _Will end your world."_

 _\- Soul on Fire, Danzig_

()()()

The man was one of the biggest the Hotel Cortez had ever seen, both tall and wide. He took up entire hallways when he walked through them, glancing over each individual detail as The Countess trailed behind him, dressed in a conservative black pantsuit.

The hotel was up for yearly inspection - a hundred years of history put into the hands of this rotund elephant man. Elizabeth shivered at the thought.

The entire hotel had been cleaning for weeks in preparation for this visit. She and Donovon hadn't killed in the last week alone, too nervous about what the inspector might find, and they were starving. Because of that, Elizabeth's temper was already short, she wanted this inspection to be over like all the rest of them were, since they started inspecting hotels and buildings to meet qualifications.

She waited for him to find something he didn't like - some chair out of place or bed with a wrinkle in the comforter. She waited for him to complain about a staff member - Liz's sexuality or Iris' brevity. She waited for him to make any movement to shut her down, to bring apart this hotel that trapped her here.

Finally, in room 64, he stops. He stops and sits on the bed so harshly that it creaks louder than Elizabeth has ever heard it creak before. He tests it out, bouncing and listening to its' cries, before standing back up.

"Miss Johnson, when is the last time you got new mattresses?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"My cleaning staff took care of it," She waved her hand dismissively. "if they're not up to par, I can order new ones."

"This cleaning staff, may I see them?"

Elizabeth froze. Ms. Evers was their cleaning staff...and Ms. Evers was a ghost.

"They've recently quit, I'm afraid." Elizabeth sighed, trying to look distressed. "The Hotel Cortez has only ever had one maid, and she's had to return to her home country just prior to your visit."

"However, you've continued operating the hotel, Miss Johnson, despite not having a single maid?" He said, scribbling down words into a tiny notepad. "I must admit, however, that you've done a good job of it. The hotel does seem up to standard - except for the mattresses, of course."

"Thank you, Mr. Wilson. I've taken over most of her duties myself, but the rest of the staff has been a major assistance as well."

"But, Miss Johnson, hotels must have a cleaning staff - even if that staff only consists of one person. You can't do the job on your own, you'll have to hire someone."

"Hire someone?" Elizabeth sputtered, trying to remain eloquent.

"Yes, hire a cleaning lady presently, or else I'll have to write you up and have you temporarily shut down, Miss Johnson. There are plenty of ads in the newspaper, or online, for you to chose from - but I know someone who would be perfect for the job."

Elizabeth's stomach churned, both in anger and from lack of substance. She found herself licking at her lips, her eyes darting over this man, searching for his pulse.

Where would she cut him, if the opportunity presented itself?

Instead, he just kept talking.

"My stepdaughter, Miss Johnson, used to work for Molly Maids. She had a little issue there and was removed from the team. Since, she's had to move back home, upsetting both her mother and me, and we both agree we want her back out of the house. This is a live-in position, is it not?" Elizabeth found herself nodding. "Good, I'll give her your address and she'll report here tomorrow morning for an interview and, if you'll have her, an overview of her duties."

The bed gave a sigh of relief as he rose from it, shaking Elizabeth's hand and ripping the piece of paper out of his notepad. He threw it in the trash as he walked out of the room.

"I believe I can show myself out, Miss Johnson."

Elizabeth shook her head - she should've eaten him.

()()()

"So we're getting a new maid, a living one, just like that?" Iris shook her head, glancing at Liz. "This is insane."

"What could she do, Iris? It was that or let the hotel be closed down." Liz shrugged, taking a sip of her margarita. "Overall, I think we got lucky. If it had been a different inspector, we'd all have been out on the street."

"The hotel has never had a member of staff who didn't know about the ghosts, about the countess..."

"Oh hush, Iris." Liz waved a hand. "You worry too much. We'll all be fine, honestly. The girl won't know, and we'll keep it that way for as long as we can."

"The second she finds out, she's going to expose us." Iris crossed her arms, turning and looking towards the empty lobby.

"You can't say that," Liz rolled her eyes. "You haven't even met the girl yet."

"Neither have you."

"I'm optimistic," Liz smiled. "I have a good feeling about this one.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N - This takes place before the events of AHS Hotel. I do not own any of the characters or the show apart from my OC or any other OCs.**

 **Stella's Faceclaim: Nadine Crocker**

()()()

 _"Until we know that it's time to leave_

 _Act as if this is forever_

 _Assume the roles we could never be."_

 _\- It's Just Begun, She Wants Revenge_

()()()

I don't know who they were expecting, but it definitely wasn't me.

I walked up to the counter and the woman there stared at me as if I was an alien, her words and smile biting. She asked me if I wanted a room, and if my boyfriend would be joining me later on. Already nervous, I bit my lip.

"I'm Stella, I'm here about the cleaning job." I bit my lip, motioning towards the paper with the address on it, handed to me this morning by my stepfather. There was a duffle bag on my shoulder, one exceptionally large for any kind of vacation.

If things worked out here, I would never have to go back home again. I could get the money I needed and move on, do bigger things. I could write, like I've always wanted to do, instead of rotting away cleaning other people's toilets and folding stranger's laundry. But until then, I was stuck here - it was better than being at home, at least.

"Oh, you're the new maid." This woman rolled her eyes, motioning for her friend to come over from the bar. "She looks a bit...dainty, don't you think, Liz?"

I frowned. My fingers were small but calloused, my arms thin but muscled - I had spent years cleaning up other people's shit, and I had the body, and the blisters, to show for it.

"Goodness, you're younger than I imagined." The other woman, Liz, seemed taken back.

"She's not young, she's just short." The original woman snorted, reaching for a room key. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three," I told her, trying desperately to stand my ground. I needed this job, I really did.

"Liz seems to have a bit more patience than me today, she'll show you to your room."

I looked between the two of them.

"Don't I need to speak to the owner or something? Like, have a formal interview before you move me in?"

"They've already chosen you," Liz smiled, glancing towards the stairs for a minute. "C'mon, honey, that's not a bad thing. Back at the counter, that was Iris, by the way. She's a little rough around the edges."

She put her arm around me, guiding me up a flight of stairs and onto the second level. They led me to Room 62.

"This is usually a guest suit," Liz shrugged. "But The Countess, that's the owner, she wants you here. I'm sure you'll find it more than comfortable."

The door swung open, revealing a massive sitting room with antique furniture. Beyond that was a king-sized bed, and the right a bathroom. The entire room was done in a deep, luxurious red and a dark mahogany. In the corner, there was a minibar already filled with full sized bottles of brandy and vodka. I tried to hide my excitement at being put up in such a beautiful room, and I turned back to Liz.

"It's really lovely," I told her, placing my bag down gently in the center of the room, lying my purse beside it. "Now, before I get too comfortable, can we go over my daily duties. Routines, and all that?"

"Oh, right," Liz shook her head, plopping down in a chair. "We don't have too many guests here at the Cortez, but they do tend to leave a mess. Your job is to clean the general areas - the lobby, the kitchen, the bar. If you are needed to clean a private room - either of a guest or of one of the residents - then someone will call for you. Do the basics, you know? The sheets, the bathroom, vacuum and mop...but if there's weird stuff in there, clean that up as well. Don't ask questions, just clean as much as possible, can you do that?"

"Yeah," I nodded, thinking of all the traces of mistresses I'd cleaned from the homes of rich, unsuspecting housewives. "Of course."

"Good," Liz said, patting me gently on the back. "I'm usually at the bar, if you need anything, and Iris lurks around the front desk. Come to us with questions, alright?"

"Sure," I nodded. "But, the owners, they don't want to meet me."

"The only owner that matters has already seen enough, my dear. You're hired."

Although I was confused, I smiled brightly.

"That's great, really!" I grinned.

"Your paycheck comes on Fridays, you're paid on a salary basis of 400 a week, plus any tips the guests leave." Liz smiled, making her way out of my room. "I hope you enjoy it here, Stella."

"I know I will," I assured her, waiting until she was out of my room.

I turned to the massive space - bigger than any apartment I would ever hope of owning - and shrieked. I ran to the bed, launching myself on top of it, and began to laugh.

After what happened at the last job, with Molly Maids, I thought any hope I had of working again was over. I thought I would be picked out as a murderer, irresponsible and wild. Instead, it seemed like I had moved up in life.

Quick to prove my abilities to Liz and Iris, I unpacked as fast as I could and then moved to find the janitor's closet, wanting to get this place spotless as quickly as possible.


	3. Chapter 2

_"If I could dream you in meticulous detail_

 _Would you ever come alive?"_

 _\- Confusing Happiness, Lo-Fang_

()()()

By seven o'clock, I was exhausted.

It was obvious the hotel had been without a maid for a long time. The key spots were done - the couches, the isles - but the places were people don't always look - underneath couches, behind bookcases - were disgusting. It took me the entire day to clean the first level and the bar upstairs, to move the furniture and scrub until everything was spotless.

There was something about the hotel, certain things that made me feel dirty. I was convinced that cleaning it up, scrubbing off the grime and dust, would help me somehow.

In some ways, it did. I was content to sit in the lobby or the kitchen or the bar and not feel the need to take a scalding bath afterwards. My room felt clean as well, probably because I had already declared it as my own. The other rooms seemed unclean, too. I walked past their doors and I could practically feel the bacteria seeping through each door. I had to fight the urge to break into every single one of them and scrub it clean, wash until my hands were red and raw and bloody.

There was something bad about this hotel, I could sense it now. They needed more than a maid, they needed a spiritual cleansing - but I needed a job, so I didn't say anything and I stayed.

Liz must've seen me retire to my room, dragging my sore feet and hands, and sent up dinner to me. It was a simple meal, a grilled cheese sandwich and some chips, but it did the job. I began to understand that Liz was no cook - like a maid, the hotel probably didn't have an official chef either.

I was beginning to wonder how they stayed in operation.

I noticed a radio in the corner and turned it on, fiddling with it until I found something mildly resembling LA's Top 40. I kept the volume low and pulled out my notebook, content to work on my poetry until I fell asleep.

Instead, something else disturbed me.

In the next room over, the room that was supposed to be empty, jazz music played. Not discretely, but loudly - someone over there wanted me to know they were there.

I decided to ignore it. If I could hear it, Liz and Iris could likely hear it as well. Let them take care of it, I was just the maid. Besides, I had no experience in dealing with potential thieves or drug addicts, nor did I want any. But an hour went by and the music kept getting louder and louder, the crescendos higher and the descents lower. It was alright while I was writing, but at some point tonight I wanted to get some sleep.

"Hey," I shouted, banging on the wall that connected our two rooms. "Can you turn that down?"

The music was turned up in response.

"For the love of God," I groaned, pulling a Hotel Cortez robe over my negligee and entering into the hallway. I walked over to Room 64 and knocked on the door.

It was opened before my hand touched wood.

"Hello?"

The man who opened the door took my breath away. Not because he was handsome, but because his appearance had surprised me. He wore a pantsuit, for one, complete with a gold pocket watch. He had a dark mustache and slicked back hair, reminding me of something my grandfather might have done.

He was handsome, however, but not overtly so. He was strange, that was the best way to describe it. But there was some part of him, whether it be his dark, discerning eyes or his overt stare, that drew me in.

There was something wrong about this man - and, whatever it was, I was attracted to it.

"Hello?" He repeated, reminding me of my purpose here.

"Hi, I'm your neighbor, Stella, and I was wondering - "

"Ah yes, the maid!" He smiled, opening the door and allowing me to enter. "Please, come in."

His room was an exact replica of mine apart from a dining area, placed between the sitting room and the bedroom, which was filled with the most detailed food I'd ever seen. There was hog, turkey, and chicken - there were bowls of salad and bowls of carrots, entire platters filled with nothing but mashed potatoes. I looked around the room, but he was alone.

"Ms. Evers, sometimes goes overboard. Would you like some?" He said, following my stare.

I planned on saying no, but my stomach betrayed me with a low growl - apparently, the sandwich hadn't been enough. I reluctantly picked up a plate and filled it with vegetables and starches.

"No meat?" The man raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a vegetarian," I said, grabbing a fork and picking at my broccoli. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

I couldn't help myself, I felt overly comfortable with him, this man who's name I didn't even know. While I ate, he crossed to turn down the music.

"Forgive me, I'm not used to having neighbors." He said, nodding toward the stereo. "So, how do you like the Cortez, Miss Buckner?"

"it's beautiful!" I assured him, laughing through bites of food. "Intricate, but easy to clean."

The man didn't eat, only watched me as if I was some kind of art or science subject. It was as if I was in a trance, out of it somehow, because I didn't mind.

"I designed it," He said finally, proudly taking a sip of his brandy.

Whatever trance I was in, I fell right out of. I dropped my fork, letting it clatter onto the delicate china plate.

"You designed the Cortez?" I sputtered, remembering what was really going on here - I was in a strange man's hotel room, a strange man who thought he was over a hundred years old.

"I did," He said, smiling as if nothing was wrong. I tried not to let that reassure me.

"This place is a century old," I shook my head. "It was designed by James Patrick March."

"I am he and he is me," The man smiled at me. I stood, steadying myself with the back of the chair.

"I'm sorry, I'm very tired." I shook my head. "I think I need to go to bed."

"Of course," Mr. March - the man - assured me. "Do you need assistance getting back to your room?"

"I think I'll be fine, thank you." I said, waving his hand away and hurrying towards the door, towards the safety that was the hallway.

Once I was in the hallway with the door to Room 64 shut tightly behind me, I began to feel better. That man must've been crazy, that's it, and he'll be checking out soon enough. And to think I found him attractive?

I walked back to my room, shutting and bolting the door behind me. I showered and crawled into bed, setting an alarm for seven o'clock tomorrow morning, and turning out the lights.

I could still hear that man's jazz music playing, though fainter now. In spite of it all, it lulled me to sleep.


	4. Chapter 3

**I had a question about what time period this takes place in. It takes place in 2015, but before the events of the season. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy! xx.**

()()()

 _"you are sick and i hate you and love you for it_

 _you're a wreck but i'm always going to want you._ _"_

 _\- Creek Blues, Nicole Dollanganger_

()()()

When I woke up the next morning, I forgot where i was.

I forgot whose luxurious sheets I was under, whose glamorous room I was in. Briefly, I wondered if I had gone to a party last evening and spent the night with some kind of visiting, foreign prince.

And then, when the alarm beeped for the third time, I remembered. I remembered my stepfather's proposition, my mother's willingness to get me out of the house. I remembered the job and the hotel and my duties - I remembered the strange man from last night.

Shaking my head, I rose from the bed. I showered quickly, not bothering with my hair as I would just throw it into a messy bun anyways. I pulled on a dark grey t shirt and a pair of Levis, yanking an old pair of Keds over my feet before I left the room.

My stomach was growling for breakfast, my head already aching for its' morning coffee. As I walked past Room 64, I wondered if I had dreamt it all. Either way, I found myself speeding up.

The bar itself was closed, but Liz was present, a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. She motioned towards it, beaconing for me.

"Is this mine?" I asked, and she nodded. Smiling, I picked up a fork and began to pick at the eggs.

"Compliments of Mr. James March."

Abruptly, I fought not to spit the food back out again.

"You mean...that was real?" I said, feeling as if all the air had been knocked out of me.

"Things at the Cortez, Stella, aren't always what they seem." Liz shrugged. "Eat your food, it's not like he poisoned it or anything. He seems happy to have you here - which is surprising, because he hasn't enjoyed another person's presence since The Countess."

I looked at the food - appetizing enough that it was clear Liz didn't make it - but I found I couldn't eat. Slowly, politely, I pushed it away from me. I had a feeling he was out here somewhere, watching. Either that or he would make Liz report back to him later.

"Can I have some coffee?" I asked instead.

"Of course, how do you take it?"

"A little bit of milk - almond, if you have it." Liz nodded, shrugging. She produced a latte seemingly out of nowhere, sliding it across the bar to me. She watched as I sipped of it.

Avoiding her eyes, I looked around me. The lobby and the bar were as spotless as I had left them last night, when I had retired to my room. It was as if no one had even walked through them. I had no clue what condition the kitchen was in, but I was sure I was about to find out.

"Everything's spotless, Stella." Liz sighed. "And, as of now, we're completely vacant. We have a guest checking in tonight, but his room's already done up."

"So," I bit my lip. "What am I expected to do today, then?"

"That's up to you," Liz smiled. "But I advise you to stay around the hotel in the later afternoon - that's when our residents get most...lively."

"Okay," I smiled, nodding at her as I began to plan my day.

I polished off my coffee, thanking Liz once again as I moved towards my room.

Once inside, I changed quickly into a pair of running shorts and fished around my suitcase for my sneakers. It was a beautiful day outside, and I wasn't going to miss out on that. Besides, running always helped move my creative process along.

I grabbed my phone on my way out as an afterthought - only a day here and I was already used to the complete lack of reception. It would be exciting to step outside, to check my Twitter...

My thoughts elsewhere, I bumped into someone in the hallway.

"Miss Buckner, why, that's an interesting choice of attire."

My stomach shrunk.

"Mr. March," I said, trying to hide how my voice faltered. "I was just leaving for a run."

"Was breakfast to your liking? I had Ms. Evers make it for you. I pointedly asked her to avoid any meat products."

"Breakfast was excellent, that was very considerate of you." I said, trying hard to be considerate, to follow Liz's advice and not ask questions.

"I'll tell you, Miss Buckner, that I do not make breakfast for all my employees."

"Just your new ones, then?"

"Not even them," He said, his voice low. God, was he flirting with me? Was that what this was? "Something else has occurred to me, Miss Buckner, just standing here with you."

I glanced down at my long, pale legs - still too nervous to meet his eyes.

"What's that?"

"You, my dear girl, need a uniform!" He spoke exuberantly, excitedly, and called for Ms. Evers. She stood beside him, beaming and showing off her own uniform. "While you're out today on this 'run,' maybe you could pick one up for yourself? I have a certain perchance for Ms. Evers."

"I'll look for one," I nodded - the only place I'd find anything similar to hers would be a costume store. "If I could, Mr. March, may I go now? I'll be back within the hour."

"Of course," He nodded, although he looked a bit sad to see me go. "I'll see you this afternoon, Miss Buckner. Maybe we can dine together this evening?"

"Maybe," I called back, giving him a quick smile as I headed for the front door.

God, it felt good to be outside.


	5. Chapter 4

_"And care for no one but the offspring_

 _Of your might."_

 _\- Feral Love, Chelsea Wolfe_

()()()

I'd spent more than an hour on my run, that was for sure. In my defense, it had taken me hours to find a costume shop in the middle of the summer, and even longer to find a maid costume that was practical and decent. I doubted I would ever wear the thing, unless Mr. March demanded it. Cleaning was a chore in itself - doing it in an itchy, short costume would be even more unbearable.

When I returned around noon, the place was empty. Liz was at the bar, reading a tabloid magazine, and Iris was at the front desk using her laptop. There was no wifi and no reception in here, so what she was doing, I'll never know.

Once again, every public surface was spotless - obviously, our new guests hadn't checked in yet. I dropped my costume off in my room and took a long shower, trying to kill the time. When I emerged, however, I found that there was still nothing for me to do. I dressed quickly and, plucking a novel from my bag, found my way to the lobby. If no one else would use it, I wouldn't hesitate to.

I curled up, my jean-clad legs hidden under my bottom, as I thumbed through the thick piece of fiction. Around me, the hotel was silent. I wondered how Liz and Iris could bear it - the ghosts, the loneliness, the monotony of it all. Since I came here, life at the hotel had seemed boring and repetitive. Worst of all, there wasn't even a single thing for me to clean.

I was practically begging for these new guests to be partiers, so much that they'd trash the room and I'd have to spend hours - no, days - cleaning it up after they left. I wanted them to write on the walls, to piss on the bedsheets, anything to give me something to do.

I should be writing, I reminded myself, but since my encounter last night my muse had abandoned me entirely.

I turned the page, over halfway through now, when I heard a voice from beside me.

"What are you reading, Miss Buckner?"

"Call me Stella," I said, jumping lightly. Mr. March was on the couch beside me, and I hadn't even noticed he'd entered the room. There was something dangerous about being that silent.

"Only if you call me James," He smiled, patting me gently on the knee with one hand as he reached for my book with the other. " _Pet Sematary_ \- what is this? They can't even spell properly."

"It's a book, and that's called colloquialism. He's spelling wrong on purpose." I laughed lightly.

"Why would someone do that?" James said, inspecting the book in his hands.

"It helps him get his point across, I think." I shrugged. "I don't really know."

"What's this book about?"

"Read the back cover," I smiled, pointing towards the blurb on the back. "Essentially, it's about zombies."

"I haven't heard much about zombies,"

"Makes sense," I nodded slowly. "I mean, I'm pretty sure you...you know, _died_ , in the 1920s. The first zombie movie, White Zombie, premiered in 1932."

I blushed then, realizing that, not only had I entirely geeked out when it came to horror movies, but I'd also probably insulted the murderous, dead owner of the hotel. I swallowed nervously, but James seemed not to be bothered by most of it.

"What is a zombie, Miss Buckner?"

"It's Stella, for one, and it's technically a reanimated corpse. Someone that has died and, for some reason, come back to life. For the most part, they eat other people. In this story, however, they just kill them."

James grinned at me then, leaning in slowly. For a second, I truly believed he was going to kiss me. I was shocked first and foremost by the fact that I wasn't pulling away.

Instead, he whispered to my ear, his dark eyes wild.

"I like the way you talk about death, Stella."

A shiver ran down my spine and, though I hate to say it, not in a bad way.

At that moment, the front door to the Cortez opened, and a group of rowdy boys walked in. James pulled back from me, but did not break eye contact.

"Ms. Evers has laid out a dress for you, Stella, that I think you'll look especially ravishing in. I want to see you at dinner tonight, after you're done your nightly duties around the hotel, is that clear? Be at my suit by seven-thirty."

I fought to say no, I wanted to say no - but I couldn't help it.

"Sure," I nodded.

He passed my book back to me and rose from the couch. As soon as I looked back at him, he was gone.

At the counter, I could hear Iris handing out room keys to the boys - something about a bachelor party. I smiled lightly, those were always messy, and knew I would have something to do starting tomorrow morning. As the ascended the staircase to the bar, I marked my page and began the search for the vacuum cleaner.

They had dragged mud in with them.


	6. Chapter 5

Stella's dress is from unique village's website. It's under their 'vintage prom' collection and is called 'Silver and Nude Deco Beaded Illusion Tulle Long Dress 2016 Prom Dresses.'

To keep you posted, updates will most likely come on weekends. I'm a student and I also work a full time job, so I'll try to update once a week. Thank you all for reading! xx.

()()()

 _"I know when you're around, cause I know the sound_

 _I know the sound of your heart."_

 _\- The Sound, The 1975_

()()()

By seven o'clock I was in my bedroom, my nightly duties finished for now, staring at the dress left on my bed.

It was elegant, too elegant for a girl like me. Done in true flapper style, the dress was cream colored with elaborate, silver beading. It was probably too long for me and, as if Ms. Evers already knew that, she'd laid out a pair of high heels beside it. The heel itself was a clear, plastic color - reminding me of Cinderella herself.

Previously, I hadn't realized that dinner had been such a dress-up event.

Avoiding putting on the dress until the last minute, I hurried to the bathroom to touch up my hair, freeing my curls from the bun they'd been constrained to the entire day. I was relieved to find that they had settled well and refrained from turning into their usual rat's nest. I left my hair be and added some makeup.

I didn't wear makeup very often, so I likely went overboard - especially on the eyes. There was glitter involved, the same color as the dress, and I got a tad overexcited. Either way, I was sure I looked presentable.

Then I had to put on the dress, there was no way around it at this point. It was calling to me, beaconing for me, and I could hear Ms. Evers bringing in dinner to Room 64.

I checked the clock - 7:27 - I was running out of time.

Not wanting to anger my new boss, I yanked the dress over my head and smoothed down any wrinkles, stepping none-too-gracefully into the heels.

I made my way quickly into the bathroom, doing a once-over in the full-length mirror. I looked good, sure, but I was dressed more for a night at the opera than dinner in a hotel room. What was odd to me, however, is that I didn't feel like this outfit was going to waste.

Admittedly, I wanted to look good for Mr. March.

I sucked in a breath, biting my lip as I exited my room, walking down the hall to Room 64.

Reluctantly, gluing a smile onto my face, I knocked.

It was 7:32.

"Ah, there she is," Mr. March said, opening the door with a smile. "The girl knows how to be fashionably late, Ms. Evers. And, she looks ravishing."

I smiled at him, brushing a piece of hair out of my face.

"There's just one thing," He frowned as he beaconed me into the room. I froze, my stomach clenching up. Had I worn the wrong dress? Was my makeup too dramatic, too much? I watched as he took his index finger and traced it around the outskirts of my upper lip, his eyes inquisitive, as if he was studying me. After a moment, he pulled back and smiled. "There we go, Stella. Your lipstick was smeared."

"T-thank you." I stuttered out, allowing him to take my arm and guide me to the table.

I hadn't been touched like that - so gently, yet so surely - in a long time.

He guided me to a seat at the table, his dark eyes never leaving my figure as he crossed the room to his own. In front of us was a spread vastly different from the one last night - all vegetables, and a single platter of steak. The steak was rare, of course, and I could smell it over from over here. Still, I said nothing.

"Ms. Evers had to ask around about vegetarianism, and luckily Liz was able to give her some pointers. So, Stella, you don't eat meat? Not even tempted by it?" Mr. March asked, slicing into the steak and placing chunks of deep red meat onto his plate. He gestured for me to eat as well.

I watched his mannerisms, tried to catch Ms. Evers eye and get her to send me some clues. Between the two of them, I had nothing, and I prayed the way I ate my carrots and mashed potatoes wasn't too terribly rude or offensive.

"That's right, James." I swallowed. "I haven't had meat in a month or so."

Not since the accident, I knew.

"That's not terribly long." James shrugged. "Tell me, what caused this lifestyle change? It can't be your reading habits, obviously - I've questioned Liz about zombies, too, and they do seem like vile - yet interesting - creatures. She was kind enough to show me a few pictures."

"There's no such thing as zombies, James." I shook my head. If there was, I would still be with Molly Maids right now. "I don't have a problem with gore or violence - I just can't seem to stomach meat lately, that's all."

"Is it a digestive issue? I could have Ms. Evers get a physician - "

He looked genuinely concerned, and I blushed deeply. I was sure my digestive system wasn't dinner talk.

"No, I'm fine," I assured him, shaking my head and staring at my food.

"Just get out with it, would you dear?" Ms. Evers said, glaring at James. "It would make it a lot easier on all of us."

I sighed, knowing this would come up eventually. The Countess would've asked, or James would've, or my old boss would've called and informed them that I was a danger to them, a liability. I put my fork down and stared into my lap, realizing this was probably the last time I'd ever be in this hotel, ever be offered a gown like this one.

"When I was at Molly Maids, I hurt someone very, very badly." I sighed, wringing my fingers. "I drove the other maids around in a Molly Maids vehicle from house to house, and there was a lot of us in the car that day. Some of my coworkers were fighting, getting loud and anxious, and none of us were wearing seat belts. Anyways, they were standing up in the backseat of the minivan and I couldn't see out the back window, but I gunned it out of this family's driveway anyways. We were running late that day, we needed to go. Their son was on a bike in the middle of the sidewalk, I didn't see him until I hit him."

"Did he die?" James said. He didn't seem distressed, didn't seem angry - he had that same curious look he always seemed to have when looking at me.

"He did." I said, brushing the tears out of my face. I took a moment to collect myself. "He died on impact. I should've gone to jail, James - I should've done life in prison. But the family, they took it easy on me. They didn't press charges - refused to. They said it was an accident. My stepdad and my mom, they were thrilled, they thought the family was just insanely christian, insanely forgiving, but I'm not sure it was like that. The little boy had down syndrome, James, and it was like they were happy to see him go."

"Gods above," James cursed.

"It was awful. I can't even describe it, but there was something in their eyes when I went to the door to tell them what happened - and it was relief, James. Oh god, it was _relief_."


	7. Chapter 6

_"Am I beast or_

 _Am I human?_

 _Am I just like you?"_

 _\- Am I Demon, Danzig_

()()()

James was silent, staring at me with his dark eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," He said, shaking his head. "You didn't do it on purpose, Stella."

"Of course not, but does that make a difference?" I bit my lip. "I'm sorry, I think I might've ruined this dinner."

I stood, rising from the table in that beautiful dress, and making my way towards the door.

"Stella," He called after me, not moving from his seat at the table. I heard him tell Ms. Evers to fetch me.

I could hear the swishing of her skirts as she came after me, grumbling lightly. She caught me at the door, pressing a firm hand against it and preventing my exit.

"Please, Miss Buckner, you can't go." She pleaded. "It'll only make him made, frustrate him farther."

"Yeah, because I'm sure my story just made him feel wonderful about everything," I laughed sarcastically. "I'm sorry, Ms. Evers, but I think I might need some time to myself."

"James will help you, if you allow him." She said, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at her. For a moment, her eyes were sad. "He helped me. He's helped a lot of people at this hotel."

"Alright, look," I said, blushing deeply with shame. All my google searches and reference books on James Patrick March had brought me to one place - and at this point, I had to know. I had already given my confession. "Is he God or something?"

"Who, Mr. March?" Ms. Evers laughed. "Goodness, no."

"I'm the devil," James appeared on light feet, making no noise as he rounded the corner. "It seems, Miss Buckner, that you know my name - but you don't know who I am."

"I don't," I shrugged. "It would help if you got some wifi in this hotel, that's for sure."

His brows furrowed for a moment, but he shook his head and refused to aknowledge me.

"I cannot forgive you for your sins, Stella, but I can assure you that I - that all of us - have our own." He smiled, motioning towards the table. "Please, come back to dinner."

"I'm so, so sorry," I said, brushing at my eyes in a desperate attempt not to cry. "I can't."

I flung open the door then, surprising Ms. Evers with my strength. In a frenzy, I burst into the hallway.

A large, firm arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me back. I shrieked as I was yanked into the room, Ms. Evers shutting the door hesitantly. The same arms that grabbed me spun me around to face my captor.

James' eyes stung with anger, his face flushed with frustration. His smooth hair had been frazzled in the mess I'd created and he was absolutely seething at the mouth. He reminded me of a rabid dog, all anger and frustration and no outlet for any of it. At his sides, his hands began to shake. He balled them into fists, willing them to stop.

"I _told_ you not to leave!" He shouted, veins popping in his neck and forehead.

My breathing sped up, each breath becoming a soliloquy in its' own, and he seemed excited by this, aroused even. I watched as my fear, my defiance, turned him on.

"James," Ms. Evers said, speaking hesitantly from behind me. Her voice was quiet - she was as scared as I was, only she was handling it better. "You're scaring her."

"Good," James smiled, smoothing back his hair. "Maybe she'll learn to listen."

He reached for me with sweaty, grabby hands. James tightened his grip on my wrist, dragging me back to the table. Tentatively, Ms. Evers trailed behind us.

"Serve dessert, Ms. Evers," James said as he helped me into my seat. When he was finished, he stood over me, his hands on my shoulders, pushing me down into submission. "The things I have to say are better told over coffee cake."

Watching his eyes, seeing the violence in them, I began to wish that I had read more about him in those books.

Ms. Evers reentered the room, a large plate in her hands. She served James first, then me. I watched as he picked at it, moving it around on the plate to make it look like he'd eaten more - an old trick I'd remembered from high school.

He was trying to make me feel comfortable again. He was failing at it.

"I'm sorry for my outburst, Stella. Sometimes, you'll find, I'm very hard to control."

I said nothing.

His eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. He waited for me to finish my cake, but I had yet to pick up the fork.

In the next room over, there was a deafening thud. James' perked up.

"Ooh!" Ms. Evers cringed.

"Was that my room?" I said breathlessly, turning to look at the wall where it had come from.

"Indeed, it was." James rose slowly, motioning for Ms. Evers to hand him something.

It was not a knife, not a gun - but a pipe. The long and narrow kind, like he'd pulled it freshly out of the plumbing. It was the same copper color that graced the bathrooms of the hotel.

"Ms. Evers, bring Stella by the arm. Keep her a safe distance away, however." He ordered, walking delicately towards the door. "It's time she sees me in action."

He opened the door to the hall, motioning for Ms. Evers, with her light hold on my hand, to bring me through to the other side. We let James lead the way to my room, allowed him to kick in the door to Room 63, pipe in hand.

Then, we watched the devil do his dirty work.


	8. Chapter 7

**I hope you all enjoy this chapter! It was a harder one to write as I wasn't exactly sure how to put the murder of the bachelor party into words. But I hope it's alright and thanks for reading! xx.**

()()()

 _"When I first met you there was a garden_

 _Growing from a black hole in my mind."_

 _\- Garden, Halsey (unreleased)_

()()()

When the door was opened there were five boys standing in my room.

My dresser, the beautiful antique, had been knocked over. Its' contents were strewn about the room, t shirts on the couch, panties on the lamps - a bra even hung from the ceiling fan. A lamp had been kicked down beside the couch and, in the bathroom, the water ran.

James looked from boy to boy, watching their shocked faces fill with horror. He was not a kind man - they could see that now. I reached to extend an arm to him, but Ms. Evers pulled it back, shaking her head. In this scene, it was better to be a member of the audience, not an actor.

"Uh, this isn't our room!" One of the boys exclaimed, hiding laughter and looking towards his friends.

"Cut the shit," Another one said, looking straight at James. "We came here for the girl, the maid. We wanted to see if she would come party with us. It's my bachelor party, you know."

"So, when you found this girl absent, you broke into her room and tore it apart?" James raised an eyebrow, looking at each boy in the eye individually, probably fantasizing about what he would do to them.

Surprisingly, the thought of this didn't make me sick.

"Look, man - "

The one who had spoken before started to walk towards James, his arms up in surrender, but James attacked anyway. He flew at the boy, all anger and speed, tackling this massive guy to the ground. James raised an arm over his head, bringing the pipe down heavily on the man's skull. The rest of us watched on as he screamed out in pain.

You would think the pipe would make a different sound than it did. But instead, the pipe bashing in the man's skull makes the same sound it does as when water flows through it, trying to reach your bathtub. It's as if the pipe is trying to remember what it should be used for, not what it's been made into.

Sometimes, people are like that too, I think.

Slowly, Ms. Evers let go of my arm. She wasn't shocked, I think - no, she knew this was coming from the moment she'd seen me try to leave. She was waiting to see my reaction.

I tried to run, but my feet were glued to the floor. I stayed, and I watched.

Another boy, the one who had spoken first, rushed at James. He yanked him off his friend, delivering swift, painful punches to James' chest and ribs. He acted as if he did not feel them, and I began to wonder if he actually did.

I moved to help, to step in and disengage the two of them. Like lightening, Ms. Evers grabbed my arm again.

"He'll kill me too if I let you help," She said, half apologetically.

I cast her a forgiving glance and, by the time I'd turned back to the fight, James had his hand wrapped tightly around the boys neck, rising to his feet and pushing the boy flush against a wall.

He was strangling him.

The boy let out a choked cry, asking his friends to help him, but no one in the room moved. Eventually, James dropped him to his feet.

The other three, the ones left, they could only stare.

James picked up the pipe again, looking one by one at each of the leftovers.

"Your friends have died because of what they did here tonight," He said, nodding to the two corpses. "And you will die, too."

The boys were frozen with fear, but my stance was wavering. I could feel strength leaving my body, I could feel the nausea rising. I needed to get out of here, and fast.

"James," Ms. Evers said slowly, motioning towards me. "I think she's seen enough."

"You don't want to watch me finish, Stella?" He said, the slightest amount of sadness hidden in the fury that was his eyes.

I said nothing - how could I?

"Take her back to my room, Ms. Evers. Find her a nightgown and draw her a bath." He said, nodding towards the boys. "I'll finish up here."

"Of course," Ms. Evers nodded, ushering me quickly out of the room and back to James'.

"I don't feel well," I warned her, one hand on the wall to steady myself.

"Of course not," She shrugged. "Neither did I, that first time. But, you get used to it."

She guided me to the bathroom, setting me down in front of the toilet like my own mother would do sometimes, when I was still young and came home drunk. Her gestures were gentle, but not overtly so. As I leaned my head against the cool, porcelain seat of the toilet, Ms. Evers began to draw me a bath.

The sound of the water filling the tub reminded me of James, of the boys.

I emptied the contents of my stomach, the little dinner I'd eaten, into the toilet. I began to cry then, too, the tears from my eyes falling in and mixing with the bile.

"Oh, dear," Ms. Evers said, brushing my hair out of my face. "I'll get you a glass of water, alright?"

I nodded gratefully, pushing myself away from the toilet.

Beside me, the bath was still filling up - that noise was still filling my ears.

When Ms. Evers returned, I was already in the bath, my ears underwater.

She rapped on the side of the tub to get my attention, and waited patiently for me to surface.

"I'll leave you alone, I promise." She smiled. "But I felt you needed to know - Mr. March cares for you, Miss Buckner. And when a man like that cares for you, it's both the best and the worst thing you can imagine. He'll do anything for you, you have to know that, but he'll also never be able to deny these...tendencies."

I nodded slowly, beginning to understand - or at least beginning to think I did.

"You and James, were you ever - "

"God, no!" Ms. Evers laughed. "I loved him a long time ago - before the hotel was finished, even - but he never felt the same way. And now, now there's nothing but companionship between us, and we're both happy with that."

I nodded, watching as she rose from her spot beside the tub, ready to exit the room.

"Ms. Evers," I called after her. "Thank you for being so kind to me."

She smiled then, her eyes sad for a moment.

"You remind me of my own child, Miss Buckner. He was a boy, Albert, and I lost him a long time ago." She waved a hand. "I don't know why I see you two as so similar. It's something about your demeanor, I think. He was so kind, and so good. He always listened well."

She continued to chatter as she exited the bathroom, and finally the room altogether.

She was going to clean my room - no chance of them asking me to do it. The thought of getting the bloodstains off the walls, of having my fingerprints all over that copper pipe...

There was a reason I was here, and it wasn't to clean up bloodstains and crime scenes. So, patiently, I soaked in the tub and waited for James' return.


	9. Chapter 8

_"I've fallen in love with you in every past life."_

 _\- Candy Apple, Nicole Dollanganger_

()()()

James returned, freshly showered and in pin-stripe pajamas, and waited outside the bathroom for me. Despite the fact that I was covered in bubbles, despite that I had never told him he could not come in, he didn't peek into the bathroom. He stood next to the cracked door, leaning against the wall, and asked me if I was alright.

"I think so," I told him, leaving out the parts where I cried and vomited. "I'll be okay."

"I shouldn't have shown you that, Stella. I should've known you weren't ready."

"It's alright, James." I shook my head. "Don't be mad at yourself, it's alright."

I sighed, looking at my pink toes poking through the foam of the bath. For now, that was all I could offer him.

"Ms. Evers is cleaning your room, but she's informed me that she's laid a nightgown on the sink for after your soak." I heard him sigh, stuttering lightly. "She'll clean overnight, Stella, and you're welcome to stay in here for the night if you wish."

I cringed, thinking about those boys. What would they have done if I had been in my room? What would've happened if James hadn't been there? Sure, he probably didn't handle it the best way - but at least he'd handled it.

"I'll stay," I said, nodding slowly.

He cared about me, like Ms. Evers said - his intentions were only...misguided.

I heard James walk away from the door, probably fetching himself another drink, and I pulled the plug out of the bathtub.

Rising slowly, I grabbed a towel and dried off. I dressed in the nightgown Ms. Evers had laid out for me - a gold, satin shift that went down only to my knees. They were bruised and sore from kneeling beside the toilet for so long, but I tried to ignore this.

I pulled my wet hair into a high bun, avoiding letting it drip onto the satin dress. I was beginning to wonder where Ms. Evers had gotten these clothes - they were too small for her and they certainly weren't her style. I shook my head, however. With everything I knew about James, it wasn't unlikely that he didn't have an attic full of clothing left behind by discarded visitors.

When I left the bathroom, James was standing beside the bar.

"I cleaned up in your room, I hope you don't mind." He smiled, turning to me and handing me a drink.

His smile fell when he saw me, and he swallowed hard. Silently, he moved to the bathroom, pulling a plush hotel robe off one of the hooks. He held it open for me to step into.

"That kind of nightgown, Stella, is for your husband." He shook his head, smoothing back his hair. "Ms. Evers should've known that."

Something told me that it was likely she already did, that she'd chosen this gown for a reason.

"I'm sorry," I told him anyways, trying to hide my laughter as I tied the robe around me.

"Don't be, how would you know?" He said, patting me gently on the shoulder.

I took a sip of my drink, wrinkling my nose at the amount of alcohol in it, and allowed him to guide me to the sitting room.

"What happened tonight, Stella...I got out of hand. I'm terribly sorry if I scared you."

"Really, stop apologizing, James." I shook my head. "I told you a secret tonight, and you told me one as well. That's all that happened."

He bit his lip, looking like he wanted to say more, and I wondered if anyone had ever seen James March at a loss for words. I began to laugh, gently, and he began to smile as well.

"You must be exhausted," He sighed, looking at his pocketwatch. "All your work this morning, the excitement tonight."

"I am pretty tired," I said, handing him back my barely-touched drink. "Do you want to head to bed?"

"Of course," He said, beaconing towards the king sized bed in the back of the room.

He took me by the hand. His fingers were raw from scrubbing at them, trying to get the blood off, but they still felt nice against mine. I allowed him to lead me towards the bed, to pull back the covers and fluff my pillow.

"I'm the maid, James," I reminded him, laughing lightly. "I can do this."

"You're much, much more than a maid," He said. It came out teasingly, but there was a stark kind of seriousness in his eyes.

Once I was settled, he turned off the light and walked back to the living room.

"James!" I called after him, bolting upwards. "Where are you going?"

To be honest, I was scared to death that he was leaving the room. I knew how unlikely it was that those boys from the bachelor party would be coming back to get me, but the thought of being alone right now terrified me.

"Why, I'm sleeping on the couch." He retorted.

"Why? This bed is massive?"

"it's improper for us to lie together," James said. "We're not married."

"James," I groaned, laughing lightly. "It doesn't work like that anymore. Come sleep with me."

I could practically hear the internal battle within his mind, hear his wants and his morals debating. He'd just killed five young men in the room beside of us, so it was no surprise that his wants, his instincts, won.

He pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed, nearly a foot away from me, and crawled underneath of them.

"Thank you, Stella." He said slowly.

"For what?" I grumbled, burrowing deeper into the soft bed.

"For trusting me."


	10. Chapter 9

_"Out where the stones stand up like thrones beside the ocean_

 _Out where the waves make a grave of the sea_

 _The lovers struggled in the middle of the tempest_

 _And water angrily crawled up onto the beach."_

 _\- Fall Down, Never Get Back Up Again, La Dispute_

()()()

Halfway through the night, sounds of fervent whispers and hushed voices awoke me.

One was James. The other I didn't know.

The clock on the bedside table read 2:45 am, and I knew I'd have to be up in four hours to start cleaning, so I burrowed my head deeper into the pillow and tried to fall back asleep.

But then I remembered where I was - what had happened in the other room came rushing back to me and I laid there, stunned, with my face half-buried in the sheets.

"You're only going to hurt her, James." Said the other voice, a woman's voice.

It was silky and, had it not been for her harsh, biting words, she would've reminded me of an angel. At the end of all her sentences, no matter how sweet, there was cruelty. I could not see her, but I was sure she was beautiful in the same kind of way.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my dear," James replied, and I could tell from the easiness in his voice that he'd been drinking, that he was drinking. "Stella's different - different than you, different than all the others."

"So there have been others, James?" The woman said, her voice slick and angry. "While you've been condemning me for Donovan, all this time you've been sleeping around too?"

"Elizabeth," He huffed. "I'm a century-old ghost, there's not many opportunities for me to experience...carnal pleasures. When they come around, however, I know better than to say no. You have not come to my bed since Bartholomew."

"You've wanted me for a hundred years, James." The woman sighed. "Now, because of this new _maid_ , you deny me?"

"You have spent all this time running around with boys, men who I didn't approve of nor wish to allow in my hotel. Don't you think it's my turn, Elizabeth?" He said, straining not to raise his voice.

From the bed, I curled deeper into a ball, slamming my eyes shut. James wanted me, sure, but only as a pawn, a plaything. After everything I confessed, after what he'd done for me, and he'd be willing to trade me in for this Elizabeth the second she was ready for him.

Thinking about it was doing me no good, however, and eventually I would succumb to tears and entirely blow my cover. Instead, I tried to focus on sleeping.

"James," Elizabeth said, lower and sweeter than before. "She's awake."

"What?" James said, and I could hear him turn to look at the bed. Slowly, he advanced towards me. "Stella, my dear, it's not polite to eavesdrop."

He reached the bedside, sticking his hands under the covers and feeling around for my own. He linked our fingers together, pulling me out from the duvet and onto the edge of his bed. I was teetering off the side now, half prepared to fall into him. I think he liked it that way, having that position of power over me.

His eyes were dark, the same kind of insanity that had killed those boys filled them now. They flickered across my face, searching for something, and I'm sure they found the same dried tears and runny nose that I was imagining.

I felt used, and now James knew it.

He seemed at a loss for words, his mouth opening, as if to speak, and then shutting again. His lips twitched.

Elizabeth, just as beautiful and angelic as I had first imagined her, came to stand behind him.

"Don't fret, Stella," She said, her words filled with jealousy. "He has chosen you. You look spectacular in that gown, by the way. I was wondering why Ms. Evers was going through my closet."

Then she left, her beautiful, long dress flowing out the door to the hallway. James glanced once at the place where she had stood, and in that moment I thought I felt my heart break.

"James," I said slowly, anxiously. "I want to go back to my room."

I did. I wanted to go back to where there were no strange, beautiful women sneaking in at two in the morning, where James was stuck on the other side of the wall and where, when I was finished with it all, I could deadbolt the door and call it a night.

When I was as tired as I was now, it was easy for me to overlook what had happened there, with the boys. I was willing to risk the memories for a good night's sleep.

"Stella, please," He said, cupping my face with his hands. "You can't go back there. You need to stay with me."

"Why should I?" I asked, pushing myself up and sitting farther back on the bed. "I don't know what your relationship with her is, but I'll never - ever - be able to live up to that, nor would I ever want to."

"Stella - "

"I need to go to bed, James. I have to be up in an hour to clean."

"Don't fret, I'll have Ms. Evers take over your morning duties so you can sleep in."

"I don't want you to make exceptions for me, James." I shook my head, getting off the bed. "Look, I'm going back to my room. In the morning, I'll get up to clean - even wear that damned maid's outfit for you - because that's what the hotel is paying me to do. It's a job, James."

I started to walk towards the door when he rushed towards me, grabbing my bicep tightly.

"Stella, I understand your anger." He said, although his own frustration seemed to be getting the best of him. "But you cannot go back to that room."

I yanked my arm free, red bruises already beginning to form, and huffed, leaving his room.

He hurried after me, calling my name, but I slammed the door in his face. I slipped the deadbolt into place and listened to him bang on the door - I let him wake up the entire fucking hallway, what did I care?

And then I turned around, looking at the remnants of my room.

There were no bloodstains, no bodies - nothing but the smell of bleach and cleaner.

Then, from the bathroom, there was a noise.

"Look who's back, eh?"

The boys rounded the corner, all five of them somehow restored to their original condition - no holes or gashes, no beaten-in, bloody heads. Their eyes were still evil, though, and their words still mean, and they were advancing towards me at a rapid rate while I stood, frozen with fear.

One of them grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back and pinning me against the bedroom door. He pushed himself up against me, his rotting breath in my ear, and when he touched me I could see James tackling him, hitting the pipe against his skull.

God, I could feel it too.

My free hand pressed against my head, I let out a cry.

"Goddammit, Stella!" James called from the other side, continuing to beat against the door.

Still proud, I would not call for his assistance.

"You've got no one looking out for you this time," The boy sneered, stepping away and letting another one of his friends have a turn.

This man was not as rough as the first, but was none the less volatile. Instead of using his arms to restrain me, he pressed himself against me and stuck a long, wet kiss on my lips. I screamed into his mouth, kicking with my legs, and while the other boys hooted and cheered, I used my free hand to undo the deadbolt, to unlock the door.

When he pried his lips off mine I was no longer so proud, and I yelled out for James.


	11. Chapter 10

A/N - in order for this to work (and to solve my writer's block), I changed the rules a little. Ghosts are allowed to come and go as they please from the hotel _unless_ they have an especially strong connection to it. James, for example, is stuck to the hotel because he built it, and Mrs. Evers because she spent most of her life there. James' victims however, despite dying there, are not confined to the building.

()()()

 _"On the night you led me_

 _Under your sin_

 _You had me howling."_

 _\- Howling, RYX_

()()()

As I screamed for James, the boy previously assaulting my lips stepped away, spitting on the floor of the hotel room. Death obviously hadn't sobered him up any.

"Anyone else want to have a go?" He looked around the room at his friends as I fumbled blindly with the door knob, unable and unwilling to take my eyes off of them.

Was this how I was to die? In a stolen nightgown, makeup streaking down my face, killed by ghosts or zombies or some other supernatural creature?

I couldn't say I didn't deserve it, because maybe I did.

Another boy approached me, pulling a knife out of his pocket like some 1950s gangster, and I yelled for James one last time, my eyes pinched shut.

The boy never touched me. None of them did.

Somehow James was in the room, glaring at the boys like they had committed the worst crime on Earth.

"If you remain in my hotel," He seethed, glaring at them. "I will make your afterlives a living hell. Is that what you want?"

The boys shook their heads at this proposition, and I felt bile rise in my throat once more. i avoided throwing up on the carpet, however, knowing that this time I would have to be the one to clean it up.

"Then get. out."

i could've sworn the hotel shook with his words as the boys ran straight through the wall behind me and out into the hallway. James sighed, smoothing back his hair again and straightening his vest, trying to compose himself.

"Miss Buckner," James huffed. "I advised you not to come in here."

My eyes widened, scared that his previously calm demeanor was completely gone now, worried that he would react the same way to my disobedience as he had to that of the boys.

How easy would it be of him to hurt me? Would it pain him, to hit me over the head or gut me like some kind of meal? Did these ghosts feel things in the same way I did? To the same extent as I did?

I started to shake like the boys did when they first saw James, my whole body convulsing as I leaned back against the door for support. James came to me. His eyes were not soft, not forgiving - they were still angry.

I should have listened. They all told me to listen - Liz, Ms. Evers - and here I was, just as defiant as ever. I was going to pay for it.

James lifted a hand to my face, prepared to hit me, to jog my brain against the side of my head.

But he didn't.

With a sharp intake of breath, he lowered his hand and calmly placed it against the side of my face, running a calloused thumb around the shape of my lips, his other fingers resting on my cheek.

"I am not going to hurt you, Stella. I am never going to hurt you. Frankly, I am embarrassed that I ever let you think I would purposely cause you pain." He said, his eyes lowered as if ashamed.

"But the woman - "

"She was my wife, Stella. _Was_. We haven't been together for a very long time."

I sighed deeply, knowing the question I had to ask - that had to be asked - before anything continued.

"Do you love her?" I prodded gently, lowering my head.

"Maybe once I did. But Stella," He shrugged, grabbing my chin and lifting my face to look at his. "I have not felt anything, for anyone, in nearly a century. Do you know what that's like?"

"I can't imagine,"

And I couldn't. I had spent the last few months mourning the loss of a child that was not mine, a child who was not likely to be missed by anyone except for me. I longed for that numbness, that feeling of emptiness, at the same time as I longed for happiness and joy.

What was better, nothingness or bliss? Total emptiness or total euphoria?

"But you're different, Stella."

As James enveloped me in his arms, I hoped the latter was true.


End file.
